The subtle sign of spring: wait up in the morning to discover the house is still warmer than when the heat kicks on. And the next day I open the windows to cool off the house. And the day after that, I do that rare thing -- I open the windows to warm up the house. What with sunlight and glass, it's uncommon for it ever to be cooler without the aid of air conditioning.
The underbrush in the woods is taking advantage of its moment in the sun: pale green leaves, though small, are flourishing on every branch.
The sky is bright, the sun is shining, the sunlight has not even turned orange, and the gibbous moon hangs over the eastern horizon, like a well-formed bit of mist.
Tulips! And cilla! Abloom in the sheltered nook, fortunately not next to each other because the tulips are orange, and just exactly the shade to conflict with the lovely true blue.
The valley is ablaze. Some trees are merely brushed with red on their grave brown, but others are red and yellow and orange as their blooms cover their boughs.
Yesterday was blustery. I bought flowers, and not only did the wind blow my hair about to make me look medusa-dine, not only did it knock over the flower flats (though they were the more long than wide ones), when I knocked out the pot-bound flowers and put them in the hole I dug, sometimes it blew them around in the hole -- and today, it compounds it with rain, lots of rain -- intermittent but ranging from light splatters to downpours where the blustery weather means you have waves of white shifting through the air, and white caps chasing over the blacktop.
On the gray morning, I drive past a tree that's dark rosy shades on every bough, except where the pink is starting to burst into full bloom.
Feral daffodils are always the most interesting, when they take root by the roadside, where the earth is brown beneath the median of trees, or fare farther because the woods are deeper.
The smaller trees are moving with swiftness, already having put out their small leaves in delicate greens, all the more striking when their bark is dark with rain.
The rainy day culminates in snow. In April. I get up and the bare flowerbeds and roofs are covered. The grass is high enough that you have to have the right angle to see the swan-whiteness between the blades. Plus flooding. The trees by the riverside, and indeed quite a stretch to either side, are up to their waists in water.
Rainy day has emerald green grass along the wayside. And among the trees, the brush shows dainty green leaves, tiny enough to look more a veil than a covering.
Tulips, budding, are green, but before they open, they blush with the color they showed only at the tip.
Magnolias bloom first that I see, with the great galomphing pink petals. But there are others about, soon, cherries in white and pink, weeping cherries most of all. . . the feral fruit trees stick out the most this time of year, as a tree otherwise the same has great boughs full of white petals, showing how much the trees in the orchard are pruned down to size.
A bird of prey circles about and about. Whenever the light falls clearly on its head and tail, they glint whitely.
Columbines' first spring growth looks like cabbages, being much more tightly furled and a darker and bluer shade of green than their full foliage. Slowly they unwrap and unfurl and lighten in shade -- three of them. One is still mired half way unfurled and half way cabbage, and one for some reason is lagging as small and cabbagey -- I give it more watering to let it photosynthesize whatever it needs to grow -- but they are starting to bud as well, and soon will have blossoms.
A garden newly planted about its edges, with pink tulips, daffodils in cream and yellow, bright-little marigolds --except that with each of the marigolds having only one bloom, it so manifestly hasn't grown that way that it almost looks like toys scattered on the brim, especially since they just form a border. Ah, well, perhaps it will grow more organic looking as it grows. New planted plants do show their artificial edge.
Rushes are growing in the marshy land about the brook -- oddly widely spaced, considering that they are not mere sprouts but at least knee high, and so an appreciable fraction of their full height-- with several stride between them and between only the dead yellow stalks with their cattails still musty.
Crab apples are gathering to bloom. Buds clump on the bough, showing bits of dark, intense pink -- far deep in color that they will be when they blossom.
A front lawn filled with flowers, tulips in shades of red and pink and purple, daffodils in yellow and cream and mixed, a cherry and magnolia both in blossom, with shades darker than common, a pink so intense as to verge on purple.
Down in the marshy land about the brook, the birds cheep and twitter and trill like nowhere else.
A bumble bee tries to land on a bleeding heart flower. After several attempts, it gave up -- the wind made the bobbing flower too unstable a perch.